Long for the Snow
by Infinitesle
Summary: Timber doesn't know what he longs for. The longing is on the edge of his consciousness, but he can't place it. Will he realize what it is, and will he find it?


The sky was grayer than the tie resting on Timber's chest as he paused, his hands sitting in the sink in front of him, up to his elbows in hot, soapy water. His white sleeves were rolled up to his upper arms, though still damp, and he was staring blankly out the clear, spotless window in front of him. It shone glossily, but that wasn't what he was concentrating on. Timber's heart had been heavy lately, his soul pinned down as if by a demon sword, shadowed and dark. He felt lost, lonely, his crimson eyes empty and his blankness obvious in his every dull, slow movement. To the average observer, he would appear perfectly normal, a functional, hard-working servant, but to his brothers, Claude or Alois, it would be plain that there was something wrong. His yearning, longing gazes, the way he was always focused on the outside air, not what was inside. It was as if he was hollow, a damaged, empty husk of what once was, lost and confused by the hope and hunger, the ache that he couldn't explain. His brothers never seemed to be around anymore, driven hard by their shared master to get ready for a massive Christmas ball, as had he himself. Cantebury always looked exhausted when he staggered back to bed, and Thompson looked like he could sleep on his feet. Something in him made him want to embrace them, hold them close, but he knew they needed their well-deserved rest. The emptiness in him grew, his emotions dragged slowly away from him, except for that one, single emotion that seemed to consume him entirely. He couldn't place what the longing was for; all Timber knew was that he wanted to be outside, and he wanted to be free. What that meant, he couldn't say. His eyes, once the colour of blood spilling and tumbling from a fresh wound, the colour of rubies scattered over a sunset-shadowed infinity, had dulled to the shade of a drying injury, nearly scabbing over, the darkness of smoked red glass against the midnight celeste, a dying flicker of life from a burnt-out candle held behind a film of darkness. His hair was dull, the raven-dark strands limp and sleek, passing across his dull orbs in a curtain, the rich, amaranthine strands faded to a smoky, obscured lavender. It was pitiful, really, how distended and detached he had become.

After a few more moments of this dull emptiness, his eyes flickered once, and focused again, and something beyond the window caused him to let out the barest hint of a hissing gasp escaping from his trembling, pale lips, a spark like the gleam of a diamond in the night leaping into his eyes as he caught something flutter past and rest onto the windowsill, something that was barely visible, that only his eyes could see. His eyes flicked up to the sky again, at the hopeful clouds, which seemed to have darkened further, into a thicker, denser blanket. His swan-pale hand stretched up to stroke the glass, ignoring its frigid bite, shivering not from cold, but from that same intense longing. After he saw no other hint of innocence, he turned away, a bitter half-frown making its way onto his white face.

Taking his hands out from the hot water, which had long since cooled, he slowly dried the last dish left in the sink, hands still trembling as he set it in a cupboard, shutting it silently and draining the water. Folding the towel perfectly, he took off his crisp apron, the bitterness swelling. Some odd, strange premonition caused him to turn around slowly, his gaze brightening slightly in hope as he stared out the window. Suddenly Timber's eyes were bright again, as if a ray of sunlight had gleamed upon rubies, a match struck to light the candle. Without a word, he spun on his heel, nearly slipping on the smooth tiles, practically having to push himself off the kitchen door to go dashing down the halls, still silent, until he was in front of the main doors. With a massive heave, not even pausing for breath or halting to note his brothers behind him, he stumbled outside, staring straight upwards as his chest heaved with his shuddering breaths.

Pure, clean flakes of white were pirouetting downwards from the gray sky, twirling and rustling, almost imperceptibly, in the chill wind. He raised one hand, trembling more than it had been previously, barely able to catch the tiny sparkle on his fingertip, a glossy, crystalline tear beading in the corner of his eye, slowly making its monotonous track down the side of his smooth cheek, almost the colour of the snow now on his finger. He watched it melt, his eyes fixed pointedly on it at the minute crystals, slowly dissolving into a blissful, virgin nothingness. His two brothers had followed him silently outside, the weariness seeming to simply wilt away from their steps as they joined him out in the freezing weather, though none of them seemed to notice it. Both wrapped their arms in silence around their brother, holding him tightly as he, in turn, wrapped his slender arms around them as well.

They remained outside in the bitter, arctic weather until the snow began to pile around their feet, the flakes large and thick in the air, nearly blotting out their vision entirely, before turning as one and walking silently back inside, arms still linked around each other. Each knew, without saying a word or looking at their brothers' faces, that their hears, only so short a time ago dark and shadowed, were lighter than they had been earlier.


End file.
